Closer
by Shinjite Florana
Summary: The moment sharp when his teeth pressed sacred against her collar. Glinting fangs, predator eyes, the sharp danger of claws against tender flesh—she should be terrified, not entranced. Not wanting, not needy, not begging for more. – racy drabble/oneshort InuXKag


**HEY GUYS. SO WHAT'S YOUR STANCE ON (pretty much) MINDLESS SMUT? YOU'LL READ IT? OH GOOD CAUSE THAT'S WHAT THIS IS.**

**So yeah. There is no plot. Just...a smutty drabble. But _BE WARNED_, this isn't your average everyday smuttness, it gets a little SM-y. Not hard core at all, just some claws and fangs and biting. So yeah. Prepare your eyeballs for that.**

**I shouldn't post this. Oh weeeelllll...**

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Closer

It was wrong.

It must be.

It was wrong wrong wrong that she felt this way.

The proper feeling wasn't gone, the sincerity was still there, the real, _deep_ affection hadn't evaporated. But at this moment, it was the farthest thing from her mind.

It wasn't that she didn't love him, she still did, but this…this…_compulsion_, wasn't love. This was lust.

And it was overpowering.

It was intoxicating

It was…unnatural.

She hadn't always been this way. Something, ever since their first _encounter_, began to develop. No, maybe it hadn't come from nowhere. Yes…it defiantly wasn't spontaneous. It had always been there, and was simply awakened. Had she been perverted? Or had something…_evolved_ within her?

Because it wasn't natural.

It couldn't be.

This lust was not the same as what she had observed in the over-sexed culture of her origin, strewn across billboards, peppered in commercials and art, literature and inundating the web. No, this was…

…beyond. This was…

…primal.

It wasn't exactly foreign, but no good little girl, no holy priestess, should have this…_want_, this…_need_.

Glinting fangs, predator eyes, the sharp danger of claws against tender flesh—she should be terrified, not entranced. Not wanting, not needy, not _begging_ for more—for him to hold her tighter, until she could hardly breathe, until she was lightheaded and gasping, sensation a fiery explosion on her skin.

She shouldn't plead for him to grip tighter, to marvel at the feeling of talons clawing trails everywhere, leaving angry red lines, tattooing her frame like lace. Glorying at the amethyst bracelet of bruises that bloomed around her arms, wrist, thigh—that was wrong. That was wrong, wrong, wrong.

It must be.

The relish she held for it all was unnatural. And it was wrong wrong wrong.

Maybe it wouldn't have been so wrong, not if she had simply _adapted_. It would have been better if this had simply been the reality of the act with him and her body—out of some survival instinct, from some much deeper need, much purer affection—_changed_ itself to enjoy it. That her enjoyment of it was wrapped much more in _him_ rather than the acts.

But it wasn't. Because she would plead. She would beg and gasp and mewl for his ministrations.

She wouldn't deny his mutual want, she defiantly wasn't _forcing_ him to act. His body would tremble with the urges too, she could see. Those eyes, hungry, hungry, wanting, wanting. He would gaze upon her as if she was some stage hybrid of Goddess and sacrifice, of master and prey. But it was already in him, natural to him, this perversion. And he had that excuse, in a way. It was much more natural that a hanyō have this…affinity. But not a human girl. Not a shrine Miko. For her it was definably unnatural.

It was wrong wrong wrong.

She couldn't play victim, either. He was only saved again by his bloodline. She was relentless, writhing with his attention. Her grasping nails would be harsh enough draw blood on any normal man, and her bites did, despite her subject. She would lap at the wound, ravenous, before it would congeal and heal in the span of moments, the faint pink gone in minutes.

He to her would do the same, his tongue liquid heat across her skin, lapping beading red and the salt of her sweat, following the glaring lines created from his claws ceaseless travels over her bodily canvas.

It was wrong the way she cried his name like an oath, that there were times the act became an addiction. His admissions subjected her to a high that blurred her vision into one encompassing color, her trembling fingers curling in to leave five shallow canals in the dry dirt.

But it wasn't all lust. That…it wasn't something as _mundane_ as that.

The moment sharp when his teeth pressed sacred against her collar. Her knees bent further to tangle greater with his, her heart beating fresh and fast with anticipation. Her hold was as possessively firm on his shoulders as his was on hers. Where the strength should have drawn blood, on her it actually did, beading crimson and ruby, the pain and pleasure a muddled mix—euphoric.

His fangs descended slowly. The bite was deliberate, intimate. The want for two flesh to become one drove the daggers deep into her. Hearts beating together wildly, both feverish in their impossible quest to press the other closer, closer, to meld two bodies into that single moment.

He would only loosen his grasp on her out of fear she would suffocate otherwise. She would inhale, long and deep, the smell of their union in her head and their taste in her mouth. The moment they shared then was not lust. Lust had built jagged high steps to it, but that instance was such an inseparable bond of love and erotica that no line could be drawn between the other.

They would be left a tangle of sweat and throbbing pulses, sharing the same breathes as in their exhaust their touching lips could not be called a kiss. They were intoxicated by each other, staring into dilated eyes behind which a chemical cocktail stilled thought to the point where all they could do was experience each other.

And it was unnatural.

It was uncanny.

It was…wrong?

Must it be?

And that's when it hit her. As inhuman eyes, impossibly dark framed only in a shimmering molt of gold encapsulated her view.

He had said it once. When, she couldn't say, all that she had left was the confession.

Kagome was born to meet me,

And I was born for her.

And then it fit. Like puzzle pieces, but infinitely more complex. Their souls themselves a matching pair, prepared and recycled from eons ago for this meeting, this moment, this union, this time.

This carnal need, equaled only by the others' mutual want, mirrored images that would only interlock with the other.

And it was unnatural, yes.

And intoxicating,

Overpowering, even

But more than all of that, it was meant to be.

And it was _right._

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**To be honest, I'm a bit more proud of the cover pic I made than this "story."**

**I don't know why, but I have this constant headcanon that once Inu and Kagome get comfortable with each other after she comes back, that their..._exploits_ get more and more...primal. Maybe I like the demon half of Inu too much, but DAUM. I can just TASTE IT.**  
**Eh-hem.**

**Please REVIEW! (even though it's a racy one!)**


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